


First Breath

by tlalnepantla



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bible Quotes, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-08-27 18:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16707718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlalnepantla/pseuds/tlalnepantla
Summary: When transforming things into persons, a certain kind of truck is required: it needs to be at the bottom of a lake.Paul’s walls are cracking. All his life he managed to keep people out and his own feelings in – but not anymore. He’s falling,hard, and it hurts more than he could have ever known.He regrets ever meeting Daryl and then again he doesn’t.What really happened when Paul went to the Sanctuary to get Daryl back?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this to Jesus because he deserved more.

> _The angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay.'_
> 
> Matthew 28:5-6

Paul used to think his life wasn’t so different compared to what it was Before. He never stayed in one place longer than a couple of months, not since he was put into the system. After turning eighteen he was no longer passed around like an unwanted piece of trash – no, he then started doing it himself. He built walls thick and high enough to keep everyone out as he changed towns, changed jobs, changed men he slept with, until the world changed itself.

The world changed but he didn’t. The rest of the people died searching for stability, died trying to find a place where they could be safe _forever_ when forever had never been shorter.

Ironically enough, the reason why Paul was still alive and many others weren’t, was because he didn’t have anything to hold on to. When the walkers came and he had to leave his home, he didn’t look back. There was no one he should have called, no one he wanted to take with him, no one he had to find amongst the rotting bodies, and there was certainly no need to put a knife through a brain of someone he loved.

Paul wanted to think it was a blessing. Not loving anyone made him strong as he drifted from settlement to another. It made him useful when he finally found a home at the Hilltop. He had no trouble risking his life for people and their need for stability. He had nothing to lose and that made him a great asset (as Gregory always told him), and it was _fine_ – being a thing was better than being a person.

Things didn’t get attached. They didn’t require love nor did they love anyone back.

It all went downhill after the truck disappeared into the lake. When Paul thinks about it now, there was something really metaphorical in the incident. A truck full of _things_ was destroyed, and at the same time Paul started slowly becoming a person. He didn’t know it back then, and that was good, because otherwise he might have tried to drown himself with the truck.

Because that’s when he met everyone. Rick. Maggie. _Him_.

Maggie was the first person he opened up to since, well, ever. Paul told her about the group home and the boyfriends, and he knew he was lying because calling them _boyfriends_ was pretty far-fetched, but it didn’t matter. Maggie smiled at him and she understood. She caused Paul’s walls to crack – just enough to let a string of light reach Paul, blinding him with care that people were ready to offer him.

It wasn’t like people hadn’t cared about him before. He knew many people at the Hilltop did. The last one had been Alex, and Paul had thought it would have been enough to sleep with him, to laugh at his jokes, to let him care before moving on – but just like everyone else, Alex had tried to make him a person, had asked him to care back, to love, and Paul _couldn’t_ , because he was a thing and things didn’t love. They were used and passed on, and really, Alex deserved something much better and Paul had made sure to tell him that.

“Don’t give me that ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shit,” Alex had said. He had been angry and there had been tears in his eyes, and Paul had known he was supposed to feel something but he didn’t. He never did.

Maggie changed that because the crack she made worked both ways. It didn’t happen overnight, but it was still too fast, too unexpected, and then it was too late to take it back. 

* * *

Daryl was the kind of person Paul would have never noticed Before. Hell, Paul would have probably straight up avoided a man like him. The first impression of him was foul – he was guarded and hostile and had a short temper. Paul had met guys like him, they were the ones who hooked up with men just to beat them up later – because they were brought up to hate themselves and the only way of handling it was to pass it on. It didn’t take long for Paul to realize Daryl was nothing like that, but the first couple of days he pushed his buttons on purpose, just to prove a point that he was another case lost to internalized homophobia.

Soon, though, Paul witnessed many times, so many times, how good Daryl was. Underneath the tough shell, he was sweet, gentle, sensitive, even funny. He had a family who loved him unconditionally and he seemed to love them back more fiercely than Paul ever thought was possible.

If there was someone in the world who deserved all of that, it was Daryl.

Paul learned bits and pieces of Daryl’s past and the rest he figured out himself. It was easy to recognize a victim of abuse – after all, Paul had spent most of his childhood surrounded with kids who were just like Daryl. It was obvious Daryl had never had help when he was a child and it made Paul even happier to know he had all the help now. He wasn’t a lost case, no. No matter how many times he had been mistreated, he still remained kind, protecting people around him with his life, asking nothing in return.

It was so easy to like him it scared Paul. It wasn’t just his heart of gold that got Paul – the longer Paul spent looking at him, the more he liked what he saw. It got to the point where every time he saw Daryl or talked with him, he felt a weird sting in his chest, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. It was a feeling Paul had only read about in one of those ridiculous romantic novels he had been forced to read after he had finished the last decent book in the group home’s crappy library.

He tried to deny it because that was the only sensible thing to do. Denying and definitely _not_ acting on it was his plan and following it wasn’t that difficult.

Daryl obviously wasn’t interested.

Paul might as well been invisible to him because all he saw was his family and Paul wasn’t included in it. The rest of Rick’s group slowly started making friends, especially at the Hilltop but also in the Kingdom. But not Daryl. He was very much like Paul had been before, walls high and impenetrable – with the exception that Daryl already had everything worth protecting inside those walls. There simply wasn’t need for others.

Oh, how it _hurt_ to know that.

It took Paul thirty-two years to finally feel unrequited love, and it was the worst feeling he had ever felt. It was worse than loneliness, because that was something he had accepted a long time ago – he simply didn’t know there could be anything else. Knowing there was and maybe had always been made him feel… He couldn’t even describe it. It was as if the life had finally decided to give him something to live for, but that something was behind a locked door and Paul _knew_ where the key was – it just wasn’t _his_.

It all changed again when Daryl was taken to the Sanctuary.

It was all a blur to Paul – when he found out Abraham was dead and Glenn too, and Daryl had been shot and no one knew if he was alive or not. Paul hid his dread under the empathy for Maggie, and it was convenient because there was no way he was going to tell anyone that the tears he held back were for Daryl.

Instead, he made a plan. Daryl deserved to live, he _needed_ to live so that he could keep being loved and keep loving, even if Paul himself would never play a part in any of that. Maybe he was no longer a thing and maybe it was his last chance to be a person, but he just refused to make it about him.

He was going to get Daryl back.


	2. Chapter 2

> _The idols speak deceitfully, diviners see visions that lie; they tell dreams that are false, they give comfort in vain. Therefore the people wander like sheep oppressed for lack of a shepherd._
> 
> Zechariah 10:2

Paul never fantasized about anyone Before.

He had fantasies, of course, but he never created them around a certain person. They were only passing images with faces and bodies he had admired, sometimes conveniently mixed to compose perfect yet anonymous shapes of men, never clear or consistent, never with personalities involved. He didn’t imagine himself with them either. His dreams needed to be vague enough not to resemble the reality in any way. Placing himself in them surely would have ruined the mood.  

He doesn’t care about that anymore. He fantasizes now. Frequently.

Crouched behind a mountain of hastily piled crates next to a group of gossiping Saviors – who apparently have nothing better to do than chain-smoke stale-smelling cigarettes for what feels like _hours_ – he browses through his fantasies. He played every one of them in his head already a hundred times on the way to the Sanctuary, and he’s been able to add a few more while waiting. For what, he’s not exactly sure, but it’s not like he can do much else. The yard in front of him is busy with Saviors, loading and unloading trucks or just loitering like the group closest to him, accompanied by the constant moaning of the walkers behind him.

He sighs against the bandana covering his mouth and stares at a cigarette butt a few feet away from him, letting his mind drift again. It doesn’t take long before his surroundings disappear, and then he’s alone, the voices of the Saviors slowly quieting down until he can no longer tell what they’re saying. He doesn’t let his eyes close, he doesn’t need to – the film is already starting.

It’s the newest one and a favorite of his. It’s also embarrassingly hopeful, but Paul allows it as a reward for how easy it was to sneak inside the settlement after Carl pulled his trick on him. The fantasy begins already in the Hilltop and doesn’t differ much from what actually happened, except for the part with Carl. For that Paul needed to create another version of himself (he calls him Fantasy Paul) – someone who is harsh and fearless, indifferent when he realizes he was played, so unlike the real Paul who was naive and conflicted, buying everything the kid said.

It could have ruined everything. It still could. Paul can’t let himself think what might have happened to Carl after he entered the Sanctuary hidden in the back of the truck – _if_ he even managed to get that far. There’s no sign of him now, and the gossiping group hasn’t mentioned anything out of ordinary happening, so he could be hiding, captured or killed, and Paul will _not_ waste his time thinking about that now.

He lets the fantasy erase Carl and moves on.

What comes next hasn’t yet happened so envisioning it is easier. He’s now inside the Sanctuary, but instead of listening to a bunch of Saviors arguing about whoever is the biggest suckup to Negan, he moves across the settlement like a ghost, so fast he’s practically invisible. He knows already where to go, what to look for, and when someone attempts to stop him, he kills them without hesitation. Fantasy Paul does not feel remorse.

No matter how enjoyable Paul finds these images of himself, he doesn’t linger. All of them are meant to be just a setup for the great ending scene.

When he finds _him._

There are many versions of how it happens. Sometimes Paul merely walks inside the Sanctuary’s main building and Daryl’s _there_ , looking perfectly normal and almost impatient, as if they had agreed to go for a run and Paul is arriving a few minutes late. This adaptation of the ending is a bit tame but Paul still likes it. It suggests everything is alright, and maybe Daryl wasn’t even kept as a prisoner, maybe he just kind of _hung around_ the enemy base until someone came and told him it was okay to go back home now. Paul does exactly that and takes Daryl’s hand and they walk out together.

It’s nice but not what he needs right now. He alters the ending to fit to his newest script, Fantasy Paul taking the lead.

He finds Daryl, though not as easily. There are more obstacles, dark rooms with figures who at first sight look like Daryl, but when he steps closer, he sees they’re only shadows. Finally, he finds a door and he _knows_ it’s the right one. It wouldn’t take much effort for Fantasy Paul to kick it open like it was made of cardboard, but instead he imagines a heavy weight of a key in his hand. He pushes the key inside the lock and opens the door silently.

Again, Daryl is waiting for him. He’s sitting on the floor but stands up as soon as he sees Paul. Although Paul doesn’t care what Daryl’s wearing, he concentrates enough to replace the ugly clothes Negan’s prisoners are forced to wear with something else, maybe something black. He takes more time imagining Daryl’s face: his eyes are clear yet unsure, he doesn’t trust what he sees. He’s not smiling but doesn’t look sad either, his features are tense but there’s calmness in him.

“Daryl,” Paul says because it always feels like the right thing to say. His voice is low and steady, and it makes Daryl’s expression change. He’s now radiating relief and a hint of admiration (but not too much), and then comes the realization: that it’s _Paul_ who came for him. Not Rick, not anyone from his family, it’s Paul who saves him, and suddenly there’s nothing distrustful about him. Paul doesn’t need to say anything more – this time it’s Daryl who reaches for him, and Paul lets him, until their hands touch. Daryl’s palm is warm and slightly clammy against his. Paul doesn’t know how it would really feel like, he’s only ever touched him to block his punches and hit him back, but he imagines it would feel like this. It feels solid.

Daryl doesn’t speak in the fantasy – Paul is scared he would get his voice or accent wrong – but he looks at Paul as if he’s waiting for an answer. Paul gives it, pulling down his bandana and tugging Daryl closer and lower until their noses almost touch.

The fantasy ends. Paul doesn’t need to continue, it’s enough. It’s perfect.

He comes back to the present, blinking slowly. The cigarette butt materializes in front of him, but the voices of the Saviors don’t come back. Paul peers through a crack between the crates and catches a glimpse of a black leather jacket across the yard. The gasp he lets out is muted against the bandana. 

* * *

 Seeing how Paul spent most of the day lost in his mind, he knows he probably should have anticipated the sudden blackout he experiences as he watches Negan and Carl walk across the yard towards the Sanctuary’s entrance. He didn’t _actually_ expect everything to go like he dreamt, but it still takes him too long to get himself together and start thinking.

Carl was somewhere inside the factory so it’s possible he knows where Daryl is. Surprisingly the boy seems unharmed (though he’s no longer wearing the eyepatch) and follows Negan a sour expression on his face. Negan looks smug as always, and Paul feels a surge of hatred so violent he has to close his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze on Carl. If Paul could get a word from him, or maybe a silent gesture to nudge him to a right direction… But with Negan at his side it would be too risky to try anything, he would just get himself caught and–

A thought occurs to him, clouding his mind with darkness before it settles inside behind his ribcage, enveloping his heart like a heavy blanket.

There’s always the possibility of getting captured intentionally and that _could_ , in fact, lead him to Daryl much faster.

Or.

He could just stand up, take out his gun and kill Negan. Right there. It would be just like in his fantasies – no, it would be better, it would be _real_.

_Don’t_ , he says to himself, stopping the thought before it grows too intense, too delicious to resist. _You think you’d live after that? You’re no use to Daryl dead._

Well, then again he’s no use to him alive either, at least not in the way he would like to be, but he doesn’t argue with himself further. No matter how unconcerned Paul is of his own well-being, getting killed is not a part of his plan. Not before he finds Daryl anyway.

Risky or not, Carl is the only chance Paul has, and he has to act quick – unless he wants to spend the rest of the day hiding and mentally jerking off to images of him holding hands with Daryl. He’s not even _opposed_ to the idea, and that’s what makes him finally move.

The heaviness in his chest lingers as he pulls the bandana down and silently steps around the mountain of crates. He spots Carl’s mop of hair before a truck passes him slowly and he uses it as a cover to move closer to the gates. No one seems to notice him and even if they do, Paul remains calm and inconspicuous, casually walking beside the vehicle until he reaches Negan’s truck parked on the other side of the entrance. He doesn’t hesitate before jumping up and grabbing at the edge of the truck’s roof. The growling walkers behind him are the only witnesses as he climbs up effortlessly and flattens himself against the roof.

It doesn’t take long before Paul hears the cab doors opening and then slamming shut.

“Fasten your seatbelt, kid.” Negan’s voice is sudden and clear, and Paul figures the windows must be open. “Your dad would be angry if he knew I didn’t care for your safety.”

Carl doesn’t answer, but Paul can somehow imagine the murderous look on his face. There’s a sound of keys jingling before the engine starts. Paul feels the rumble against his body as he crawls slowly closer to the cab, hoping he can get Carl’s attention without Negan noticing. Even when the truck starts moving, Paul doesn’t stop until he catches Carl’s reflection in the wing mirror. He has just enough time to see the surprise in the kid’s eyes before the truck halts, making Paul jerk forward.

“Daryl!” Negan yells, the familiar name coming out of his mouth so unexpectedly that Paul feels like he’s falling down fast. He has to use all of his willpower not to scramble to the other side, because how can he be _here_ now, he can’t be, it’s impossible, it’s too _easy_ , it’s–

“You seem worried so I’m taking the kid home,” Negan continues, interrupting Paul’s panicked thoughts.

“If you do anything to him–” Daryl’s voice is deep and lethal, like hot blood pulsing out of a wound, and Paul has never heard anything so beautiful. Daryl is alive, he’s talking, and Paul could just roll off the roof and drop in front of him and then…

The absurdity of the scenario pulls Paul back to the reality, and he hates Negan even more when he cuts Daryl off and says, “Dwight! Daryl needs a time out, put him back in his box for a while.”

That’s Paul’s cue. He doesn’t stop to think before he practically slides across the roof and drops off to the other side, landing on his feet softly and silently as a cat. Negan’s truck starts moving again and Paul crouches behind a concrete roadblock, not a second too early.

He doesn’t get a chance to see Daryl’s face before Dwight drags him away, but it doesn’t matter.

Paul found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this scene was actually really difficult, because even though I carefully watched the episode many times, Jesus's whereabouts in the Sanctuary just didn't seem to make any sense. Anyhow, I tried my best.
> 
> (Also, I'm looking for a beta if someone's up for it!)


End file.
